


Let's Play Doctor

by sun_and_moon_and_stars



Category: The Golden Hour (TV)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Doctor Kink, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Nightmares, Playing Doctor, Vaginal Fingering, kind of, syringes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sun_and_moon_and_stars/pseuds/sun_and_moon_and_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Alec Track discovers that his girlfriend is a bit kinkier than expected...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Alec discovers that his girlfriend is a bit kinky

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don’t have any idea how medical things work (but I googled a bit). I only have a dirty mind and a love for a certain doctor... :)  
> Unbetaed (yet? - if you'd like to volunteer please message me)
> 
> Please feel free to comment :)

“Alec.” Nash waved him over to where he was standing, the old-fashioned hospital phone at his ear, listening and murmuring a few things he couldn’t understand. Finally he hung up.

  
“Apparently they have your girlfriend down there.”

Watching Alec turn white as a sheet, he quickly added: “Nothing serious, mate. She managed to cut her leg while gardening.”

  
Alec realized he’d been holding his breath. He let it out with a sigh.

  
“Is she all right?” He asked.

  
“Seems she doesn’t even need stitches, only some cleaning up – and there’s some confusion about the state of her tetanus immunization? With the dirt in the wound and all… So they asked if you wanted to tend to your woman instead of sitting up here, playing video games all day.” He winked.

  
“On my way.” Alec got up, tied the arms of his orange jumpsuit around his waist and nodded at Nash. “Cheers, mate. Be right back.”

  
“E002” He heard Nash shouting behind him as he walked briskly to the escalator.

***

  
“Don’t you have that… that violin thing? Tonight?” He asked me while he was gathering all he needed for the tetanus booster shot, opening drawers and cupboards in the small examination room I’d found myself in after a nurse had told me that Alec was in and on his way. I hadn’t really expected to see him – it was the first time I saw him at his workplace.

We hadn’t met in tragic circumstances, thank god, but at a small Indian restaurant which I loved for its tea and he for its fast-food takeaways. So seeing him here, handling all the medical equipment with ease, studying my foot and announcing that all I needed was a tetanus shot to prevent me from getting nasty (and apparently deadly) muscle spasms of some sort, was new to me.

New and not entirely unpleasant…I rolled up my sleeve, forcing my thoughts in another direction. //Mustn’t objectify accomplished boyfriend//, I told myself. Besides, he wasn’t even wearing a white coat. Nevertheless, he looked dashing.

  
“You mean Beethoven?”

  
“Errm, yeah, Beethoven.”

  
“Violin thing… pfffft.” I rolled my eyes. “Have you ever actually been to a concert in your life? Ever?”

  
He looked like the guilty workaholic he was.  
“So it is tonight, right?”

  
“Yes, why? Do you – do you want to come? I mean I always keep a spare ticket for you, but I never thought you would actually want to…”

  
“Oh no.” Looking at me, he quickly added “It’s not that I don’t want to.” I snorted. He had the grace to blush a little bit.

  
“Work, you know...” He made a vague waving gesture around the examination room with its gleaming metal instruments and faint smell of disinfectant as if to prove that he actually was a doctor, not only a man who couldn’t stand dressing up every now and then to go to a classical concert like a normal grown up.

  
“It just means that the injection can’t go into your upper arm. It’ll probably be alright, but it will definitely hurt for a couple of hours and it’s possible that there will be a swelling. Anyway, you couldn’t use that arm tonight for… Beethoven.”

  
“What? But – a minute ago you said I’d die a horrible death if I don’t get the shot?”

  
“O no, you will get the injection” he reassured me, patting my arm, and then turned to the window, holding up the syringe against the light. He tapped the barrel of the syringe gently and pushed the plunger until a tiny drop of liquid appeared at the top of the needle. His hands were steady and elegant and beautiful. I had a little flashback of what those long, clever fingers had been up to last night and felt desire pool between my legs.

  
//Heavens, you can’t be serious// I told myself, but watching the muscles on his back flex beneath his tight crisp white shirt while he checked the liquid for bubbles didn’t help either. I swallowed. There was a cot in this room after all…

  
“It just won’t go into your arm.” He informed me casually, putting a cap over the needle and reaching for an alcohol wipe and opening it. “Lift up your skirt, will you?”

  
“I – what?” I must have misheard.

  
He nodded at my butt. “It goes in your bottom. Hurts less and you’ll be able to move your arms all evening, which is what you’ll want.”

  
“Oh.” Heat was spreading in my lower belly and I felt a tingle down my spine. This wasn’t going as planned. In fact, this was becoming a disaster. I lowered my head to hide the blush that was creeping up from my neck, spreading over my face like wildfire. Unfortunately, my gaze fell upon his strong hairy forearms and latex gloved hands, holding the syringe and the pre-injection swab. Not good.

  
“Darling?” He tilted his head to get a better look at me. I heard concern in his voice. “Everything alright?”

  
“Er, yeah. Yeah.”

  
“Love, you’re blushing like a beetroot. Don’t tell me you get squeamish about a shot in the bottom?”

  
There he said it again! In this deep seductive voice of his. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. I could feel my knickers getting wet. I desperately tried to control my breathing. Heavens, this was embarrassing.

  
“Are you afraid of needles?” He asked and his tone had become gentler and I knew that if I looked up I’d see his long elegant eyebrows drawn together in concern. He was standing close enough that I could feel his body heat.

  
“No. It’s not that… err, it’s… actually it’s… quite the opposite.” I managed to squeak and then my voice broke.

  
I waited a minute or so for the penny to drop, but apparently it didn’t, for when I looked up I saw his worried and slightly confused face, his intelligent blue eyes searching me for clues. I let my gaze wander, taking in his slightly ruffled jet black hair which felt so soft under my fingers, the hint of chest hair at the neck of his T-shirt, his broad chest and long legs hidden under his orange jump suit. I licked my lips. And then he understood.

  
“You’re not serious, are you?” He asked suspiciously and tilted his head some more as if that might help him take in the fact that his girlfriend turned out to be a bit kinkier than expected. I clenched my thighs and hoped that the movement would go unnoticed. Apparently it didn’t.

  
“So. You like to play doctor, then?” He drew himself up to his full height and looked down at me, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.

  
With a small _clunk_ he set the syringe down into the stainless steel kidney dish and leaned down to kiss me. I could tell that he was going for a chaste kiss, just to tease me, but by now I was too needy and greedy for that so I opened my lips, rubbing my body against his, begging for his tongue. Surprised, he groaned and pulled me tighter against him, pulled my lips between his teeth and finally kissed me deeply, his tongue caressing mine, rubbing his firm chest against my sensitive nipples, and running his hands up and down my back all the way down to my bottom. Hot lust was running through my veins as I felt his growing bulge pressing against my stomach.

  
“Hmm, you really do like it.” He muttered a bit breathlessly and then turned me around so that I faced the cot.

  
“Now if you don’t lift up your skirt and bend over like a good girl as I told you" he licked my ear, "I’ll have to spank you.” He hummed, his voice dropping low. I closed my eyes and let my head hang, feeling his warm breath caressing my neck and his strong hand stroking the small of my back and I shuddered, so aroused that I thought I might come from his voice alone. What would a spanking feel like, I wondered, his big rubber-gloved hands against my bare bottom… I crossed my legs, desperate to be touched. Spanked. Fucked. Anything.

  
When opened my eyes, I saw him looking at me with a big shit-eating grin and I realized that he was just winding me up. I felt the flames of a violent flush spreading across my face.

  
He threw his head back and laughed.  
“Oh Alec you bastard. Can’t you see that I’m dying of embarrassment?”

  
“I couldn’t resist, darling. You’re a panting mess.” He chuckled and tucked my skirt up all business-like so that my left buttock was uncovered. I felt cool air on my cheek and shivered. This wasn’t helping at all. Sitting down on his swivel chair, he rolled towards me. With a smirk, he opened a new alcohol swipe with his teeth, never breaking eye contact. I swallowed, mesmerized.

  
“I fear those knickers will have to come down.” He purred and, lifting an eyebrow, hooked his thumb into the undergarment in question and proceeded to ease the fabric a few inches down until he – as if by accident – cupped my sex with his left hand, his middle finger stroking me lightly through the thin fabric. A moan escaped me. The corners of his mouth lifted up knowingly as he wiped the cool alcohol over my now fully exposed buttock. He was playing me like a fiddle.

  
“I hate you, Alec.”

  
“Hm mmhh, I can feel that.” His voice was a bit hoarse by now. He reached for the syringe, the cap still on it, and played around with it in his free hand, clearly visible and certainly only for my benefit, while his left cleverly pushed aside the fabric of my soaked knickers so that his latex gloved fingers could stroke my wet folds. I gasped at the unfamiliar sensation and held tightly onto the cot.

  
“Who knew you were that kinky?” He mused, grinning up to me.

  
“Well I don’t exactly go around advertising the fact.” I answered with what dignity I had left, although it came out a bit breathlessly.

  
He murmured something that sounded like “shame”, but I couldn’t be sure as he chose that moment to let his fingertips slide through my wetness again, making me gasp and go weak in the knees. His gaze dropped to my breast, directly in his eye-line, and I suddenly knew that he wanted to take my nipple in his mouth badly.

  
“Please.” I breathed, pushing down on his fingers. I could smell him now, his shampoo and his shower gel and his own scent, mixed with alcohol and disinfectant. I grinded my hips.

  
“No. I can’t.” He pulled his hand away and got up. I mewled in protest. “Sorry, Love, but this is a hospital and people tend to walk into rooms unexpectedly…” He trailed off and looked as disappointed as I felt. He shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I can’t.” A quick kiss on the temple. Then he bent down to spread the skin of my butt between his middle and index finger, pulled of the cap of the syringe with his teeth and got on with the business at hand.

-Most certainly to be continued …-


	2. Chapter 2: Doctor Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected turn of events...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I AM SO SORRY, I meant to write smut and somehow this happened. I promise, PROMISE, that the next chapter will be plain smut (s-m-u-t-!-!-!). I don’t know how this happened. I suppose it’s just how I imagine life with a doctor – not everything can be planned.

After the incident in the hospital nothing happened. I had a wonderful evening making music with my friends and colleagues and when I came home I felt sensual and womanly and aroused. And definitely ready for further explorations on the theme we had started that afternoon.

Unfortunately, Alec wasn’t. It had turned out to be one of those days for him. He came home exhausted and quiet, head down and heading straight for the shower. We had lived together long enough for me to recognize the signs: something had not gone according to plan and he was blaming himself. Not that he would elaborate on that. O no. Not him.

So as usual on those occasions I handed him a drink when he came into the living room, where he sat down on the sofa and switched on the telly, staring without watching, and I observed him condemning himself silently for a while until I went to bed, wishing there was something I could do to ease his pain, but experience had taught me that I had to wait until he’d decide to open up. He followed soon after and fell asleep immediately – a skill you pick up fairly quickly when working in a hospital he once told me.

It was only in the dead of night when things would finally change, those small hours between midnight and morning, when sick people die and we are cold and defenceless. I woke from sudden movement and knew immediately, even before being fully awake, that he was having a nightmare. Not about what happened that day; he’d often dream of blood and limbs and operations, he’d told me, but it was never bad. When he had bad dreams, it was usually about his mom. He was an only child and she was a single parent, and somehow he’d felt responsible for her even when he was little. That was Alec, I mused, putting a hand on his shoulder, carefully rubbing his back to ease him into reality as gently as possible. Being responsible. Feeling responsible, even if he wasn’t. Blaming himself even if he knew perfectly well that there was nothing he could have done, like it was with his mum who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease and had to be put into a home. He sobbed in his dream and woke with a start, panting and then – realizing where he was – collapsed on the bed again and buried his face in the cushion.

I could guess what he’d seen; it was a recurring nightmare. His mother, young, even younger than he was now, I supposed, as he remembered her from when he was a little kid, crying for him to help her, reaching for him, pleading, begging, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, couldn’t help. It wasn’t difficult to read. He had a fear of letting people down.

I moved a little bit closer to him and continued to stroke his back, long slow strokes, the soft cotton of his t-shirt underneath my palms drenched with cold sweat. I ran my other hand through his hair, moist and silky, and buried my nose in it, breathing in his scent and sweat, mumbling nonsense in his ear, ‘it’s all right now’, ‘it was only a dream’, until finally he turned and hugged me.

‘It’s all right. You’re home.’ I whispered. ‘You can cry now.’

And he did. Because asking questions about fate and death will only take you so far. Sometimes all you can do is cry about what is lost.

That night, after I had rubbed him dry with a towel, we sat in bed for a while and talked, not about his day, but about good things, the garden, sitting in it and reading a book (or a journal in his case), enjoying the sunshine. He told me that the local preschool had asked if they could visit, showing the kids how they do their work, and while they couldn’t possibly turn up with the helicopter, he’d look into it if it was possible to borrow an ambulance for the occasion if a few colleagues were willing to go as well. His face lit up when he talked about it and not for the first time I wondered what he thought about kids; but it wasn’t a night for discussions.

When we made love that night, it was slow and quiet, and I held him when he came home, again and again, and afterwards we sank into a deep, peaceful sleep.


End file.
